Like Holmes, like Watson
by Kyakushi
Summary: Random short stories of the ever-so-famous pairing, Holmes and Watson
1. In The Morning

**A/N:** I really wanted to do a Sherlock Holmes fic, but this was all i could come up with XD

Please enjoy these short stories of Holmes and Watson on Christmas day ^^

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock Holmes' stories or characters (or movie). They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

December 25, 1890.

I had been woken up by my flat mate's violin music. Holmes was playing terribly, on purpose. I just knew it. It was that time of the year again.

I stood from my warm and comfortable bed and looked out the window. I could tell that it wasn't even 5 in the morning yet. I then made up my mind to go and tell him to stop his horrid twanging or he'd wake up the whole neighborhood.

I sluggishly walked up the stairs and made my way to his room, where I knocked quietly at his door. The music instantly stopped and I heard footsteps coming towards me. I was surprised that he had heard me at all.

"Good morning, Watson." He said, a childish smile stamped on his face. He was holding his violin and the bow with one hand, while the other hand rested on the doorknob.

But I ignored his rather cheerful comment and groaned with disgust when i noticed the repugnant mysterious smell drifting off from his room, "Good God, Holmes! What in the world is that smell?"

The detective's smiled grew even wider, "Ah!" He said in delight, "I see you've noticed the new elixir I was creating. But it's not complete yet."

"That's not important! Why would you want to create such a thing and what in heavens is in it?" I wheezed, covering my nose with my hand. I had by now forgotten my real reason for coming over to his room.

"I cannot tell you what's in it because I haven't finished it yet, Watson. Now, to answer the question as to why I'm doing it: I'm getting myself into the Christmas spirit. Which reminds me, today _is_ the 25th right, Watson?"

I nodded. Holmes play a few notes on his instrument with his free hand before resuming:

"I shall call my elixir: _My thoughts about this bloody holiday_."

I couldn't help but chuckle at this. Sometimes I wondered what age his mind really was.

"Merry Christmas, old boy." I said -rather, tried to say- to him.

"Thank you Watson, but I prefer you'd said: 'I hope you survive this Christmas.'"

"I'll see you soon, Holmes."

Then, I walked back to my room. I heard my friend shut the door and carry on with his playing, which was much worse than before.


	2. At Night

**A/N:** Another version of _In the Morning_, only this time, it's at night XD

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock Holmes' stories or characters (or movie). They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

I stared up at the mistletoe hung over us. Holmes was right next to me. I mentally rolled my eyes. _Oh, how wonderful. _

"You're not thinking about-"

"Certainly not." He smirked. "Though I do think _you_ would want to steal a kiss from _me_, Watson."

"Shut up, Holmes." I said, slightly annoyed and disturbed. Holmes nodded and began strolling away into the snow filled streets. I could see him remove a smoking pipe from his pockets and light it up. He casually looked back at me.

"Stand there all you want but nobody's going to come up and kiss you at this hour of the night." He hollered.

I chuckled and strode towards him.

"You're a madman." I smiled, resting my cold hands in my warm pockets. Holmes shook his head.

"I'm not just any madman, Watson. I'm an _intelligent_ madman."

It was late and I was tired. But I managed to gather up all the liveliness left in me and cheerfully wished my friend a merry Christmas.

To which he replied, "Merry Christmas to you, Mother Hen."


	3. Gladstone

**A/N: **Yup… Felt like doing another (double) drabble today XD

THE CASE OF THE GREEN BLOTCH

please enjoy ;)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock Holmes' stories or characters (or movie). They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

"Holmes?" Asked a very annoyed doctor.

"Yes, dear Watson?" Replied his friend, a detective.

"What have you done to Gladstone now?"

"Oh." Said Holmes, nonchalantly. "Just some usual experiments. He'll be up and running in a few moments, I promise."

"But it's not _only_ the fact that he's unconscious-"

"Then I don't see what the problem is." Holmes interrupted.

"That's not the point!" Watson said, restraining himself from yelling too loud. "The problem, Holmes, is that Gladstone has a _green blotch in the middle of his back_ because of your bloody experiments!"

"You're mistaken Watson, it's turquoise, not green."

Watson scratched his brow in sheer annoyance, "Holmes if you don't fix my dog soon, you won't be seeing me again for many days."

"But where would you stay?" Inquired the detective, mocking worry.

"At Mary's." Replied the doctor, neutrally. Watson noticed the air around his friend change.

Of course.

"Gladstone will be as good as new right this instant." Said Holmes while picking up the sleeping bulldog. Watson stifled his laughter at the expected behavior of the detective.

"Alright, old chap. I'll be going off for work then." The doctor replied.

They were out in the flat's hallway, right in front of the main door.

"Carry on, Mother Hen." Holmes said, his face red from holding the dog.

So, the doctor –who now seemed calmer– walked out.

Holmes stared down at the animal and the colorful splatter of chemicals around its furry back.

"Good God, it's spreading."


	4. Dinner

**Hello again! Finally an update with a new Sherlock and John drabble! I personally really enjoy writing these I hope it is equally enjoyable to read!**

**Reviews are very welcome! :D**

* * *

Today was a night in which Watson had the opportunity to go out and have dinner with some colleagues. And out of politeness, he wanted to bring his detective friend along with him. Yet of course, instead of being out there, having fun, he was somehow stuck at 221b Baker Street, _still_ trying to convince his flat mate to step outside his bloody room.

"Now you're being simply unfair, Holmes. These are my friends, and yours as well. It might even cheer you up!" He tried.

"I'm not depressed." Holmes scoffed.

Watson ignored him. "Didn't you believe that people's natural happiness and festivity is contagious?"

"You're right," Said the detective, leaning on the doorway in only his robes, with his usual messy hair, smelling of something acidic and looking as dirty as a human being possibly could… "But I never said that their contagiousness was a good thing now, did I? It's all the more reason of staying here, in my room, tonight." Sherlock stood straighter now. "And what is this about friends, John? I'm your only friend."

"Correction, Holmes. _I'm_ your only friend." John Watson told him, crossing his arms in front of him in sheer impatience. "You are such a child." He sighed.

Holmes frowned. "Am not. _Mother hen_." He said spitefully, not that it had any effect on his flat mate.

"Then go get dressed and come with me to the dinner." Watson ordered.

"Make me."

"You wouldn't like it if I did."

"Doesn't sound convincin– _umphf!_" With a quick gesture, Watson had pushed Sherlock Holmes inside his room using his cane. The detective landed on his bottom. He was really _only _wearing his robes.

"God! Cover it up, Holmes!" Watson closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"What, you mean this?" With that, Sherlock Holmes struck a pose and waited until the doctor had the courage to look again.

And Watson did, but not for long. With a sigh of annoyance and despair, the doctor closed the bedroom's door with Holmes inside.

"Haha, Watson. I win." Said the old boy.

Chances that he would be coming out on his own again this evening?

Unlikely.


	5. About A Dog

**Another story about Gladstone. Oh, but I love that dog! (That is, until he starts drooling on people and things)**

* * *

A dog, a small, fat, drooling _dog_.

Sherlock had no idea how Mrs. Hudson had allowed them to keep it. It was Watson's idea. But it was his advantage.

"A perfect creature for all my experiments!" The detective exclaimed with delight, gazing straight at his friend, who didn't look all too happy.

Watson gave the leash a quick shake. The dog grumbled lazily. "Oh no. No. You will not dare touch this dog. He's mine."

"He's ours-"

"Mine." Watson repeated sternly."_I_ bought him."

"Oh really? With what money?" Said Sherlock Holmes, raising an eyebrow and putting his hands to his hips. "And what's his name?"

"My own money." John stated as a matter-of-factly. Then he lifted his head proudly, "I'm calling him Gladstone." Watson stared down at the leashed animal, who was panting heavily with his large, wet tongue sticking out the side of his mouth.

"That's a terrible name." Sherlock scoffed, feeling indignant.

"And what would you suggest?" Watson asked slowly, looking curiously at his friend who was scrupulously studying the dog.

"Something much more simple… And dirty." Said the detective nauseously, making a face at the slobber-soaked carpet. "I'm still going to use him for my experiments." Holmes muttered quickly.

The medical man was going to retaliate when the landlady walked by. They were right in the hallway, just next to the stairs, and she was about to make her way down.

"Oh, so he's drooling all over the flooring?" Mrs. Hudson guessed, ignoring the animal, the man, and the… other animal.

Sherlock smiled falsely, noticing her distaste. "I told Watson, but he wouldn't listen; insisted on bringing such a beast in your lovely, humble home."

Mrs. Hudson frowned, naturally not believing a single word the detective said. "What're going to name him?" She asked finally, from the bottom of the stairs.

Once again, John Watson was going to open his mouth, yet his friend spoke for him.

"We're going to call him Gladstone. My idea, of course."


	6. Sing It Back

**A/N:** Guest appearance of Irene Adler! And no Watson TT_TT

**A/N2:** Inspired by Repo Men's OST: Sing It Back by Moloko!

Cheers!

* * *

"Surrender yourself to me, Holmes. Let's run away together." Purred a female voice behind Sherlock.

Her ghostly verbalization lingered around in his mind like a drug, like an unforgettable song.

It was all too overwhelming, lovely, and frightening at the same time.

Sherlock couldn't believe he felt lost in his own room.

"Oh my, such a scandalous proposal." The man returned to his senses as he gave her the quick reply.

The Woman, the lady in red.

Sherlock Holmes snarled with hate and passion at the name as he observed her. "Is that a new perfume you are wearing? Very citric." Sherlock sniffed the air.

The Woman laughed amiably. "Yes, it's the newest fragrance from Paris. Did you like it?"

Sherlock shrugged indifferently. She wandered slowly behind him again and her intoxicating scent trailed after her.

The nerve!

"Your husband certainly didn't." Sherlock said casually.

The Woman tried not to act surprised. "What gave it away?"

"Oh it was nothing much. The fact that you just asked me to elope with you proves that you have issues with your love life and your husband probably doesn't like fruity smells, so you wore it just to anger him." Sherlock glanced at her expectantly, feeling a small victory upon seeing the Woman sigh dejectedly as she found herself a chair to sit on without any chemical stains.

"Sherlock, my dear. You are correct." She said, seeing Sherlock smile in satisfaction. "But not entirely."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, surprised he hadn't gotten his deductions right. "How so?"

The Woman leaned forward, as if to tell a secret. "He was boring and noisy, like all the rest. But this one blackmailed me so that I wouldn't leave him. So naturally, I killed him –oh no, don't feel the need to feign surprise, it was not such a big deal anyway." The woman suddenly frowned sadly. "Oh Sherlock!" She grabbed his face with her two hands and kissed him hard on the lips. "Why can't you run away with me?"

Sherlock turned his lipstick stained face away. "Never!" He spat. "You poison me, woman."

Deep down inside both knew he didn't mean it. "I do have a proper name, you know?" She changed the subjects, leaning back on the chair, tapping her fingers on the armrest.

"And I have a proper job." Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"Jobs are boring." The Woman smirked. "You are not."

Her smell filled the room again.

For a second, Sherlock almost thought he would stand up, offer her his hand and jump off the window onto their new life together. But nothing of the sorts ever happened.

Sherlock sighed. "Go home Irene, my dear. Or I will have to call the police on you. You did just kill a man."

"He wasn't innocent."

"Neither are you." Sherlock winked, standing only to show the Woman they way out.

She gave him a small peck on the cheek. "I will be back."

"And I'll be waiting."

And there she went, out the door. The Woman, Irene Adler. Her words remained in his mind.

_Like a drug, like an unforgettable song._


End file.
